


Strength Enough to Build a Home

by rw_eaden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel/Dean Winchester (side pairing) - Freeform, Eileen Leahy Lives, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Magic, Past Character Death, Post-Season/Series 12, Sam Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 05:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/pseuds/rw_eaden
Summary: Sam is reeling after Eileen shows up, alive and totally unscathed, at the Winchester’s door. He’d seen her dead with his own two eyes, but apparently that’s just another one in the cruel string of fake-outs, near misses, and actual deaths his life has become these past thirteen years. He should be grateful that she’s alive, and he certainly is, but now he’s faced with the a reality that is somehow even worse. He’s still got feelings for her, and his drive to make sure she doesn’t wind up actually dead this time are putting a damper on whatever chance he thought they could have had at a real relationship. He doesn’t doubt her abilities, but he has no idea if he’s strong enough to make that leap.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> So this is my piece for the Saileen Big Bang! I'm super excited to share it with you all! I had some serious Sam/Eileen feels when I was writing this so I hope that comes across in a good way. 
> 
> I'd like to thank my artist dmsilvisart for being amazing and fun to work with. The art she created is stunning and I'm thrilled that I had the pleasure of working with her. [Go look at it!](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/171050392043/art-masterpost-for-rosemoonweaver-s-fic-for-the)
> 
> So, without further ado, please enjoy the fic. :)

There’s a knock at the Winchester’s door. 

That’s how it all starts, at least. Sam and Dean share a look before Dean makes his way up the stairs first, fingers gripped tight around the gun in his waistband. Sam follows, his gun already drawn but hidden behind his leg. The knocking doesn’t stop until both of them set foot on the landing. Sam takes the right side of the door, gun at the ready, while Dean turns the bolt and pulls it open just enough that he can greet the intruder with the barrel of his colt. Sam keeps his eyes locked on the hard line of Dean’s jaw the whole time. 

He expects a barked warning or even gunshots. If they’re lucky, he might even see his brother drop the weapon and roll his eyes, grumbling at either Jody or Claire or whoever the hell decided to show up unannounced to call next time. What he does not expect is for his brother to freeze. He does not expect to see his brother’s jaw flex the way it does when he’s battling inside his own head. He doesn’t expect for Dean to just… stand there. 

Sam pokes his head and his gun around the doorway and in an instant he’s frozen too. Standing in their doorway with her hands held up, several bags at her feet, is Eileen. Not Eileen. She’s dead. Standing in front of them is a shapeshifter or ghoul or reventant or something that was ballsy enough to come into their home. 

“Are you going to let me in?” The figure asks. It even speaks the way she did, slow and thick but no less sweet. Briefly, Sam wonders if monsters know the physical traits of the people they assume the lives of and imitate them or if they’re bound to the same deafness or blindness or trick knees as the forms they take. He tamps that down quickly, though, and glares at the creature. 

“That depends,” Dean says, “shifter or ghoul?” 

“Neither,” the creature laughs. 

The bottom of Sam’s stomach drops out. “Nice try. Maybe next time don’t imitate someone who’s dead if you want to get in a hunter’s lair.” 

He’s a second away from pulling the trigger when the monster speaks again. “I’m not a monster, Sam. I can prove it. Didn’t you get my letter?” 

Sam gulps. His mouth starts to water, and if this keeps up he’s going to be sick. 

“Yeah. I got the letter. I read it right after I got done at the morgue - identifying her body. You’re not Eileen.” Sam raises the gun and lines up his shot. 

“Wait a second! Don’t you want to at least silver test me first?” There’s genuine fear in this creature’s eyes and Sam almost lets himself feel bad. Almost. 

From the corner of his eye, Sam can see Dean slide the gun back into his waistband. Sam wants to protest, but they don’t do that infront of monsters. Afterword, he’ll yell at Dean. Then he’ll throw up. 

Dean pulls a silver switchblade from his shirt pocket and flicks it open. He gestures of the creature’s hand, and she stretches it out for him, her eyes still on Sam. She flinches when the blade slides across her skin, but there is no smoke. Dean pockets it and repeats the process with holy water. Still no smoke. No hissing. No issues. Just a slightly wetter looking Eileen. 

“See? I’m not a shifter. Or a demon. It’s just me.” 

Sam exhales and lowers the gun. “How?” 

“How what?” 

“How aren’t you dead?” Dean asks. 

“I saw your body. I had to make sure. You were - it was a hellhound,” Sam says. 

Eileen’s face falls and she drops her arms. “I was on a plane until three days ago. I took a greyhound to Wichita.” 

“But I -” 

“It wasn’t me,” she says, “maybe you were mistaken - “ 

“No. It had your face. It was meant to be you. I was supposed to see you.” 

“Oh, Sam.” Eileen comes forward, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. Sam lets out a breath and allows his body to relax. His heart is thundering behind his ribs and he’s probably about to start crying, but he lets his free hand slide up and down Eileen’s back. She’s here. She’s real. She’s okay. Thank fuck. 

Dean steps back out of the doorway, nodding his head for Sam to follow. After a few more short seconds, he pulls away and leads Eileen into the bunker, carrying two of her bags for her. 

None of them say anything until after Dean shows her to the room she’ll be staying in - the room she had been staying in - before hugging them both and announcing that she’d like to shower. Sam and Dean leave her to it and Sam makes his way back to his own room. Dean’s there in a second, this time with a beer. 

“You okay?” He asks, handing the bottle to Sam. He’s taller than Sam now, because Sam’s hunched over on the edge of the bed. 

Sam snorts and takes a swig. God, he hates El Sol. “Would you be?” 

Dean shuffles a bit but doesn’t answer. His silence is enough though. 

There are things the Winchester’s just don’t talk about. It’s not for lack of trying half the time, it’s just that, well, what the hell is even the point? They can’t fix the fact that their lives are a whirlwind of shit half the time and even if they could where would they find the time in between stopping and starting the apocalypse. It’s why Dean works so damn hard half the time. Sam knows that. If Dean didn’t work, he’d be running up the walls or killing himself with something else. Sam indulges him because he’d rather do some good in this world than let their own suicidal, addictive tendencies get the better of either of them. Still, Sam’s tried to be a “not my circus, not my monkeys” kind of guy when it comes to Dean’s personal issues. Sam’s half convinced that Dean would try to burn down the circus and shave the monkeys if Sam brought it up half the time he thought about doing so. Sam knows Dean. He knows the way Dean looks at Cas. He knows the way Dean sighs and pretends not to notice the for sale signs in front of nice suburban houses. He knows the way Dean makes faces at babies and smiles to himself when he thinks no one’s looking. Sam knows Dean. Which means he also knows there are some things you just don’t bring up unless it’s a crisis point - and considering how many they’ve had over the years it’s getting hard to tell how much of a crisis each new one is. 

Dean knows Sam, too, of course. He knows why Sam can only half celebrate Dean’s birthday. He knows why Sam doesn’t decorate his room and keeps all things precious in a spare duffle. He knows why Sam will sleep with the light on if he can. They’ve only talked about why a handful of times, if that, but Dean still knows. And, for all his flaws, Dean does try with Sam. He may have trouble getting past the walls he’s built around himself but he wants better for Sam. So Dean tries. 

“You know,” Dean says, sitting down on the bed next to him, “she’s okay, though.” 

“Unless I wake up and this is some horrible dream and I - ouch!” Sam jumps back when Dean pinches the underside of his arm. 

“What? Had to make sure you weren’t dreaming, right?” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Jerk.” 

“Bitch.” 

“I just - all that hurt for nothing,” Sam says. 

Dean lolls his head back and forth. “Yeah. But she’s here now. You gotta take the win, man.” 

Sam sighs, pulling a long drink from his beer. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” 

“‘Course I’m right!” Dean says, ramming his shoulder into Sam’s. 

“I guess - just why does the universe have to keep dicking with us, Dean?” 

“What’d you mean?” 

“I mean like with mom and Eileen and Cas. One minute they’re here and the next they’re gone. It’s like we can’t ever keep anything just because we want to. We can’t keep people around just because we want them around.” 

“God, Sam, I can’t believe you’re gonna make me the optimist here. Ugh,” Dean sets the beer down on Sam’s nightstand and shift’s so he’s looking him head on, “look at me, Sam.” 

Reluctantly, Sam does. 

“Yeah, the universe is bullshit. It’s like we’re cursed or something. I mean hell, we fart wrong and the world starts collapsing and we’ve got to clean up the whole fucking thing all over again just so it can break again. It’s like Jesus, can’t it just stay fixed for five minutes? And most of our friends are dead. And more often than not we screw something up because there’s some stupid catch we didn’t see coming. Like that shit with you getting hooked on demon juice or Cas letting loose the Leviathans or me starting the first apocalypse or being a demon or the Darkness or - ” 

Sam purses his lips. “Yeah, not really helping here.” 

“Sorry,” Dean sighs, running his hand down his face, “what I’m saying is: life kinda sucks for us. It always has. But there are little things, you know? Fresh orange juice without pulp. Clean sheets no one else has slept in. Waking up at noon just because you can. The people you care about living here, under this roof. It’s not a lot, I know that. And it’s bullshit that we can’t seem to have more or whatever, but it’s what we got now. And there’s at least a little good in that.” 

“But how can I get used to it?” Sam asks, “Mom left then she came back, then she got pulled away by Lucifer and now she’s back again. Cas has died how many times now? And you? Jesus, Dean, I’ve watched you die more times than I can count. I’ve buried you. And now Eileen? How am I ever supposed to hang on to something so…” 

“Inconsistent?” 

Sam nods. 

“Fuck. I dunno, man. You just gotta try. If not, what do we got really? You just gotta be happy now. Or try to. Make it count or some shit.” 

Sam snorts. If only Dean would take his own advice half the time. 

“Just, don’t sweat it. It sucks but it’s sucked worse.” 

“Thanks.” He’s trying, Sam reminds himself.  He’s not the best at this, but he’s trying. And he has a point. Sam’s been to Hell. Twice. It not only could be worse, it has been worse. Maybe he should just try to adjust to the life he’s been given. It’s not going to be easy, but Dean is right. It’s a lot better to have Eileen here, safe, than thinking she’s dead or god-knows-where where she could be in danger. 

Dean hauls himself off the bed, patting Sam on the shoulder. “You good?” 

“Yeah. I’m good,” Sam says. 

“Good. We’re having lasagna for dinner.” 

\--- 

It takes Sam a good twenty minutes to collect himself. He changes his shirt because there’s a coffee stain on the collar and he doesn’t want to look like a complete slob. It’s not like anyone is really going to care, but it matters to him. 

By the time wanders back into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, Eileen is already sitting on the island, ankles crossed and swinging back and forth as she sips her coffee. She’s in a different shirt now, a purple, long sleeve flannel that looks a little too big on her. Her hair is still wet but she looks comfortable. Much more comfortable than the last time he - no. Not going there. That wasn’t her.

“Hey, Sam,” she says, smiling at him. 

“Hey,” Sam says. He feels a little ridiculous with his heart fluttering in his chest but he can’t help it. “You have a good shower?” 

Eileen laughs. “Water pressure’s nice,” she says. 

“Right?” Dean chimes in. Sam jumps when he notices his brother in front of the stove, beating ground beef into submission with a spatula. 

Taking another look around the room, Sam notices that he and Eileen are not the only ones present. Not by a long shot. Mom is sitting at the tiny little table on the far wall, directly across from Cas who is frowning at his phone screen. Jack is also there, next to Mary, flipping through a book Sam suspects might be one of their more accurate bestiaries. 

“Hi, mom. Jack. Cas,” Sam says, a little awkward. 

His mom doesn’t say anything, just lets a small little smile play across her lips. Of course she figured him out. She may have been dead for the past thirty years but she’s not stupid. 

“Cas, Jack, have you guys met Eileen?” Sam says, stepping towards the counter and digging a mug out of the cabinet. 

“We were introduced, yes,” Cas says, setting down his phone, “she’s been out here for a while.” 

“Oh, right,” Sam says. 

Dean snorts behind him and Sam resists the urge to chuck a coffee filter at him. 

“Eileen was just telling us how you guys met,” Mary says, “I’ve never heard of Banshee’s this far west.” 

“They don’t pop up very often in the states,” Eileen says. 

“How did you end up in the states anyway,” Mary asks, “I’d imagine you had enough monsters to deal with in Ireland.” 

“Oh, I did. But I had a girlfriend who was from the US and I decided to come out and live with her.” 

“Girlfriend or  _ girlfriend _ ?” Mary asks. 

“We were dating,” Eileen says. 

Sam fumbles a coffee spoon, letting it clatter against his mug and then the counter. “Oops,” he says lamely. Eileen, Jack, and Mary are all looking at him expectantly. Cas just has one eyebrow raised like he’s unimpressed with Sam’s clumsiness. “What happened to your girlfriend?” He asks. 

“It didn’t work out,” Eileen says, “it’s okay, though. She put pineapple on her pizza.” 

“Sacrilege!” Dean shouts. 

“Right?” Eileen laughs. “Who does that?” 

“Heathens,” Cas says, deadpan. 

“What’s wrong with pineapple pizza?” Jack asks, completely serious. 

“It’s a crime against food,” Dean says, “I will disown you if you ever bring it into my house.”

Jack sits back, eyes wide as saucers. 

Sam snorts, coming up to stand next to Eileen with his hip leaned against the island. “He’s teasing. It’s not that serious. Besides, I wouldn’t let him anyway,” he says. 

Jack’s shoulders relax a little at that but he still nods like Sam’s just give him a secret to the universe. He’s so much like the way Cas used to be. Sometimes it’s scary. 

“So,” Mary says, “you really pulled a knife on Sam, huh?” 

Eileen smiles. “Yup.” 

Mary shakes her head. “And you let her sneak up on you,” she raises an eyebrow at Sam. 

“In my defense,” Sam says, “her cover was really good.” 

Mary smirks. “Well, thank you for not stabbing him,” she says. 

“Unlike someone I could mention,” Sam mutters. 

“What was that?” Mary asks. Dean whips around and scowls. 

“Dean! What did you do? Who did you stab?” Mary’s voice is much shriller now. 

“How do you know it wasn’t the one who got stabbed?” Dean asks at the same time Cas says “that was me.” 

Mary stares at the two of them, her mouth slightly agape. “I can’t believe you.” 

“Not my fault!” Dean says jabbing his finger at Cas, “he came in all thunder and lightning, shaking the whole damn barn, just waltzing past the sigils and traps like they were nothing. What was I supposed to do?” 

“You didn’t have to  _ stab _ the guy,” Mary says. 

Sam snorts. 

“I thought he was a demon!” Dean says. 

Cas is chuckling behind his phone, but Dean either doesn’t see it or he ignores it. 

Mary rolls her eyes but smiles anyway. “You four, I swear.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean yips like a frightened dog. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Mary says. 

Dean turns his back and goes back to the stove. Everyone else devolves into an easy silence. 

They moved into the library to eat dinner. The kitchen was might’ve been too small for the six of them, but the library was big enough for all of them to eat at a single table. In between a bite of salad and a bite of lasagna, it occurs to Sam that this was probably only the second time in his life he’d had a real family meal with his mother. And what’s more, this is probably the first time in his life that he’s sitting down to eat with what resembles a real family. His mom, his brother, his best friend, his pseudo-nephew half-angel, and Eileen. Sam holds this knowledge and the warm feeling it inspires close to his heart. He wants to protect this feeling, and these people, and frankly it terrifies him. They don’t live in a world where they’re allowed to have large extended families, no matter how much the craving for one has grown over the years. 

Dean cracks a joke that Sam doesn’t catch. The rest of the table bursts into laughter and the dark mood Sam could feel himself slipping into fades. He doesn’t finish his meal.


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, so, I think I’ve found us a case,” Mary says one morning after they’ve all been settled in. She’s been sitting at the library table, across from Sam, munching on toast and scowling at her computer for the past half hour. 

“A case?” Sam asks.

“Two, actually,” she says. 

“Wow. Efficient,” Dean says. 

Mary hums and nods. “We’ve got supposed psychic activity in Ogdenville and a possible witch in North Haverbrook,” Mary says, “so, take your pick.” 

“What’s up with the psychic?” Sam asks. 

“There’s a woman named Teresa Bencomo who says she witnessed a murder remotely. Says she didn’t see the killer’s face but she did see the victim, apparently. She hasn’t been charged yet.” 

“Seems more like she’s the killer,” Dean says, sipping from his coffee. 

“You’d think but she’s apparently been very vocal about what she’s seen.” 

“Alright, well maybe it’s worth checking out. What about the witch?” Sam asks. 

“Two people dead in the middle of the day, surrounded by a crowd of people,” Mary says, “according to witnesses they both started screaming at nothing, bleeding from the mouth, and then collapsed and died. Devin Schuster was at a baseball game and Maureen Holt was in a grocery store.” 

“Okay, yeah, probably a witch,” Dean says, “dibs on the psychic.” 

“What? Dean! You can’t just call dibs on a case. It’s not a one person job.” 

“Well I just did. And you’re right, it’s not a one person job. Mom and I will go look for the psychic and you and Eileen can gank the witch.” 

“Why do you get to take mom?” 

“Prerogative of the oldest child,” Dean says, smirking. 

Sam opens his mouth to protest but Mary speaks up instead. “Actually, I already have a case on my own. I was thinking of taking Jack with me.” 

“You and Jack? Really? Why not one of us?” Dean pouts. 

“Because it’s a milk run. There’s a vengeful spirit in Brockway and he needs to learn how to hunt and act appropriately in public. You two already know how to hunt and act normal in public. Well, relatively normal.” 

“But -” Dean protests.

“Besides, it’ll be good for him. He’s been spending a lot of time with Cas recently and that’s good but he could use other influences, too. He’s a bit too… literal.” 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, okay that’s probably a good point.” 

“And Eileen doesn’t really know him so they’d both be a little uncomfortable,” Mary says. 

“Okay, so me and Cas take the psychic and Sam and Eileen take the witch then?” Dean asks. 

“Sounds good to me,” Mary says, “unless you have any objections, Sam?” 

He doesn’t really. He’d like to get out of the bunker and stretch his legs a bit, but he’s not too keen on hunting just yet. Sure, it’s their usual coping mechanism for when things go bad but he’s not in the mood. He’d rather just do something normal, like take a trip to Vegas or the beach or DisneyLand. He’s never been to DisneyLand and it might be good for all of them. There’s also the added business of not wanting Eileen out in the world just yet. Sam knows he can’t keep her here, she’s a guest more than anything, but he keeps worrying that if he loses sight of her for too long she’ll be gone completely. It’s not fair to her, but it’s what he’s feeling. 

Still, he says: “nah, none from me.” 

“Good to hear! I’ll get packed up and we can get lunch in Hastings before we split up,” Mary says. 

The bunker is a slow roll of movement after that. It takes Dean a while to pry Cas from his comfy chair in the dorm they’d turned into a movie screening room and Eileen wants to take a shower first. Jack just seems a little befuddled by the whole thing. Eventually, everyone is packed up in their own vehicles. Dean and Cas take the Impala, Mary takes one of the corvettes, and Eileen makes Sam ride shotgun in her truck. 

Their lunch break is subdued, though not in a bad way. It just feels… different. Sam’s not sure how or why, but it feels like the end of something. Which, of course, is completely false. Their lives have gotten quieter in the past few months, after the death of Lucifer and Crowley shutting off the gates of Hell and subsequently becoming human again. He and Rowena are supposed to join them in the bunker in the next few weeks, after they finish up clearing out the various stores of weapons and artifacts he’s got all over the world. Demons aren’t an actual issue they have to worry about anymore, which is great, and heaven seems to have mostly backed off. They’re probably not thrilled that the devil’s son is walking the earth, but they haven’t done anything about it yet. By all accounts, the world has gotten better. Sam’s still got his brother and his best friend, his mom’s alive, Lucifer is dead, Jack’s not evil, and even Eileen is with them, but… Maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s a life spent waiting for the other shoe to drop. Who knows. But the while the atmosphere of their lunch is pleasant he can’t help but feel that this is the ending of a chapter. He’s just not sure what’s on the next page. 

\----

Eileen is a good driver, but one of the disadvantages of sitting shotgun with a Deaf driver is that conversation can’t really happen. Regardless of the fact that they’re driving along some dusty highway in the middle of Nebraska and there’s not a car in sight, Eileen can’t take her eyes off the road long enough to have a conversation. It would be easier if Sam was driving, because then at least she could watch his lips. At least she doesn’t care what music he listened to on their drive, like Dean or his mom would. He’s free to blast his “weird hippy folk rock” all he wants. 

So instead of talking, Sam digs into research. There’s not a whole lot to go on, but the newspapers report that their victims suffered “brain hemorrhages”. While that’s a probable cause of death, the circumstances of the deaths are too weird to pass up. The articles and facebook pages of the families of the deceased offer no further clues, however, so there’s nothing new to report. 

“Are you bored?” Eileen asks, glancing at him. 

Sam shakes his head, though he’s keeping his eyes on the road. Force of habit, he supposes. Dean’s nearly driven them off the road dozens of times, and he doesn’t even need to look at Sam to hear him. 

“You look bored,” she says again. 

Sam shrugs. “Not a lot to do in a car ride. I’ve gotten used to it.” 

“Would you like to drive for a bit?” Eileen asks. He doesn’t get the chance to respond before she’s pulling over to the side of the road. Sam chuckles to himself as they get out and trade seats. He has to adjust the steering wheel slightly so that it’s not pointing directly at his stomach. 

As Sam pulls away from the curb Eileen stretches out, throwing her arms over her head and yawing. She smiles at him. “I think I need to get a chauffeur for the drives out to these hunts.” 

“Yeah?” Sam asks, “why’s that?” 

“Driving sucks,” she said. 

Sam can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad. It just get boring staring at the same patch of dusty highway for hours on end.” 

“Like I said, driving sucks.” 

“Dean seems to like it,” Sam says. 

“Dean’s a weirdo,” Eileen says. 

Sam snorts. “No arguments there.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence for a while. It’s still pretty boring watching the unchanging highway, but being behind the wheel at least gives him a better view of the left side of road. 

“Wanna play twenty questions?” Eileen asks. 

“Aren’t we supposed to do that signing?” Sam asked. It’s actually one of his favorite skype games the two play. He’s been getting better at ASL, slowly but surely, but practicing with Eileen helps a lot. Also, it’s a great excuse to get to know more about Eileen. 

“If you want to drive with your knees, go ahead,” she says. 

“Alright, fine. You go first.” 

“Alright. Go for it.” 

“Is it a person, place, thing, or monster?” Sam asks. Their rules are a little different than most. Instead of just picking a random thing, they have to pick something that means something to them, something with a story attached. If the guesser gets it right, the picker has to tell the story. 

“Thing.” Eileen says. Out of the corner of his eye he can see her still making the sign for his benefit. 

“Is it a weapon?” 

“Nope.” 

“Is it… used for magic?”

“Kind of?” She shifts her hands up and down, palms facing the ceiling of the truck. 

“Is it used in spells?” 

“No.” 

“Is it… wearable?” 

“Yes!” 

“Is it a charm?” 

“Yes!” 

“Okay, so what’s the story behind it?” Sam asks. 

“No, you need to guess what kind of charm it is before I tell you. Lots of charms out there, Sam, you know that.” She’s smirking at him now. Sam smiles, too. 

“Alright fine.” 

“And yes, that counts as one of your questions.” 

“That’s not fair!” 

“Sure it is. It was a question and you haven’t won yet.” 

“Fine,” Sam says. He’s aiming for petulant, but he knows she’s going to ignore him even if he looks the part. “Is it a protection charm?” 

“No.” 

“No? Really? Wait, don’t answer that. That was not a question. That was rhetorical. Okay. Is iiiit a luck charm?” 

“Nope!” 

Sam thinks back to the various charms he’s come across in his reading. It can’t be a fertility charm because what the hell would she want a fertility charm for? There are love charms, but again he can’t really see her needing one. There are tracking charms, though. He hasn’t thought of that. 

“Is it a tracking charm?” Sam asks. 

“Yes!” She says, “you got it!” 

“Alright, cool, spill it.” 

“When I was still hunting with my mentor, she gave me a pendant. This one,” she says, pulling a little necklace out from under her shirt. Sam glances at it, but he can’t see it too well from the position he’s in. He can tell, however, that it’s silver and engraved with little runes. “She told me that if we ever got separated, I could use it to find her, no matter how far apart we were. One hunt, when I was fourteen, I got lost in the woods. We were hunting a joint-eater, and we got separated and I was sure I was going to die out there. But I remembered what she told me, and I read these runes out loud and it started glowing. I found my way back to her in fifteen minutes.” 

“Wow,” Sam says, “blood magic?” 

“Most likely,” Eileen says. “I still keep it to keep her close.” 

“That’s sweet,” Sam says. 

Eileen smiles at him and rests her hands behind her head. “Your turn.” 

Sam thinks for a moment, then tells her to start. 

“Person, place, thing, or monster?”

“Person.” 

“Is the person currently alive?” 

“No.” 

“Were they related to you?” 

“Technically, no.” 

“Was this person a man, woman, or neither?” 

“Woman.” 

“Was she a hunter?” 

“No. No, she was not.” 

“Was she a monster?” 

“No.” 

Eileen shifts in her seat, sitting up a little straighter. “Did you date?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says. 

“Sam…” 

“No, no, it’s okay, I wanna tell you. Keep going.” 

“Was she your girlfriend?” 

“Her name was Jessica,” Sam says. “She was my first long-term girlfriend. We went to college together and we lived together. She was pre-med, but she was getting her minor in studio art. She was so smart, and funny. We met in an art history class where she helped me pass the class actually. First class I ever got a B in.” 

“You got a B? In school? I don’t know if I believe that.”

Sam laughs, “no, it’s true. I probably would have failed if it wasn’t for her. But she was great. Tall, long blonde hair, gorgeous brown eyes. She used to tease me all the time about being half-machine because I almost never slept at night. I was going to ask her to marry me,” Sam lets out a breath, “and then she died. I probably would have too if Dean wasn’t there to drag me out of the house. But I used to think about her a lot. Almost every day. Now, I’ll think about her every once in awhile, if I catch of whiff of the perfume she used to wear or something like that. I used to feel really guilty about it, and I thought I was forgetting about it. And in some ways, I guess I was, but she’s still there, you know? She’s in here,” Sam touches his chest, “and that’s okay, too.” 

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Eileen says, “but I’m glad you’re okay now.” 

“You know I - “ Sam stops himself short. He almost admits that he never thought he could love anyone again, not in close to the same way, but he doesn’t. The conversations is too weighty as it is, and there’s not need to dig up things he’s not even sure he understands yet, “I miss her, but I’m okay.” 

Eileen is quiet, but she pats him on the arm. 

“Alright,” Sam says, “your turn. Person, place, thing, or monster?” 

\----- 

It’s past midnight by the time they make it to North Haverbrook when Eileen pulls into a motel off the main road. It’s not too shabby looking, actually, though the pink and turquoise neon outside is a little kitschy. Sam makes his way to the front desk on his own while Eileen grabs the bags. 

The interior is decorated like a cheap fifties dinner, with scuffed and yellowing black and white tiles on the floor and a glittery strand of red lights above the reception desk. 

“Welcome to the Bunny Hop Motel. Room for one?” The clerk asks from behind the desk. He’s reading the newspaper but he doesn’t seem that interested in it. He doesn’t seem that interested in anything. 

“Two beds, actually,” Sam says. 

“No can do, man,” the guy - Reggie - if his name tag is correct, “all out of doubles.” 

“Really? The parking lot is a desert,” Sam says, looking over his shoulder. 

“Maid called in sick. Unless you want a dirty room, no doubles.” 

Sam scowls at the kid, but he’s unmoved. “Fine. You got a pull out?” 

“Nope,” Reggie says, flipping the page of his paper. 

“Lemme guess, the laundromat is closed?” 

“Hey man, if you want a pull out you can head over to Smithburg 20 miles down the road.” He raises his eyebrow like he’s challenging Sam. Sam rolls his eyes but he doesn’t really have a choice. 

“Fine. Two rooms. One bed each.” Sam slaps a credit card down on the counter. 

“You got it.” Reggie swipes his card and hands him two keys, the rooms right next to each other on the first floor. 

Card and keys in hand, Sam makes his way back to the truck where Eileen is waiting. She looks a little sleepy, but she smiles regardless. 

“Well. Good news and bad news. Good news, they have rooms. Bad news, we’re splitting up for the night,” he says. 

Eileen shrugs, taking the key from his outstretched hand and slipping the straps of his duffle over his wrist. “I’m pay you back when we get back to Kansas. ” 

“You don’t have to,” Sam says. 

“You had to pay for two rooms. It’s fine with me.” 

Sam shrugs. He could argue for a little bit longer, but he’s ready to call it a night. It hasn’t really been a long day, but he’s still ready for bed. “Alright, well, we can talk about it in the morning. I’m gonna turn in.” 

“Good night, Sam,” Eileen says. 

He watches her retreat into the safety of her motel room, which is dumb because it’s only five feet away, but he still feels the need to do it. He walks into his own room and locks the door behind him before tossing the key on the nightstand and heading to the bathroom. The air conditioner is running, regardless of the fact that it’s barely May and not all that hot outside. It makes the room smell like pool water and dust. 

After a quick shower, Sam lets himself fall asleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

“So, I’m thinking we start with the coroner’s office, then the Schuster’s next of kin,” Sam says. 

_ “Fine by me,” _ Eileen signs. 

It’s only nine in the morning, but Sam was starting to understand that Eileen isn’t a morning person in the slightest. She doesn’t feel like talking much before noon, or pulling her hair back, or getting dressed, apparently. She sits across from him in the vinyl booth, her hair still rumbled and wavy, falling in her face. She’s in sneakers, but she’s still wearing the flannel pajama pants and t-shirt she’d been wearing to bed in the bunker. She probably wasn’t wearing a bra, either. Which is probably inappropriate to be thinking about. Without thinking about it, Sam’s eyes trail down to her chest for a split second, before he jerks them back up to her face. Sam gives himself a mental kick and drains the last of his first cup of coffee. 

_ “Do you know what you want?”  _ She asks. 

“Probably eggs and bacon,” Sam says, signing what he knows as he speaks. 

_ “Same,” _ she signs before pushing her menu towards the middle of the table.  _ “Order for me?”  _

“You sure?” 

She nods.  _ “Tired.”  _

It takes three more cups of coffee for Eileen to actually wake up and return to a somewhat cheerful state, after which their waitress had come buy and taken their orders. 

_ “Did you manage to dig up any connection between the victims?” _ Eileen asks. 

“Not so far,” Sam said, “but I’m hoping their families might know who they made enemies with.” 

_ “You’re sure it’s a witch then?”  _ Eileen asks. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

_ “It’s a little out in the open isn’t it? Two strange deaths in public?”  _

“Well, I didn’t say they were an experienced witch,” Sam says. 

Eileen frowns.  _ “I guess.” _

The waitress comes back with a cheery smile and their plates and they dig in, Eileen mixing the hash browns with her eggs and bacon. They don’t speak while they eat, as Eileen’s too busy with eating and inhaling her coffee to sign. It’s a little awkward, though, not because there’s nothing to say but because Sam’s just not used to having a silent dining companion. Dean is a chatterbox nearly all the time, regardless of whether or not he has food in his mouth. Cas is a little better, but Dean’s definitely rubbed off on him and he’ll yammer on for hours if given the opportunity. Jack and Mom have taken to asking a lot of questions, especially when they eat in public. Jack wants to know why the eggs in diners are never as good as the ones made at home and Mom is endlessly fascinated by the way nothing really seems to change in small towns. 

Sitting in the quiet with Eileen, though, it’s a little odd. He doesn’t have anything to say but he feels like he should, if for no other reason than to quit with the weird spastic eye movements he keeps making. He wants to look at her, wants to admire how gorgeous she is, especially when her hair sticks up all over the place and she’s got a piece of bacon stuck to her lip, but he doesn’t want to seem like he’s staring. He’s a grown man, after all. It’s not like he’s never worked with or been around an attractive woman before. It’s just - annoying. 

Their breakfast is paid for and then it’s back to the motel to change clothes and head out. It takes Eileen a bit longer, as she hadn’t showered before they had breakfast. By the time she steps out into the morning light, pants suit and all, she’s looking much more awake. 

The coroner’s office is in what passes as downtown for North Haverbrook, if it could even be called that. The police station is only a block to the north, the fire station a block to the south. There was probably building for town hall meetings somewhere nearby, but Sam didn’t even bother to look. It was one of the more well organized small towns Sam had been to over the years, though. There was still a train station in the center of town, even if it wasn’t being used as much these days. From there, everything radiated outwards, like ripples in a pond. 

Sam and Eileen conned their way into the morgue under the guise of Agents Moore and Gordon to get a good look at the recently deceased Maureen Holt, as Schuster’s body had already been taken by his next of kin. 

“This is her,” the coroner, Dr. Monroe, says, pulling her body out of the freezer and flipping the sheet over her head. Aside from the large Y-shaped scar on her body and the gray tinge to her skin, she looked normal. 

“What was the cause of death?” Eileen asks. 

“Organ failure caused by internal hemorrhaging,” Dr. Monroe says, “she suffered multiple blood vessel ruptures, probably at the same time. I’ve never really seen anything like it.” 

“Never?” Sam asks. 

“No. You’ll see some ruptured vessels from high blood pressure or hematomas, but not this many. It’s highly unusual for more than one to burst at a time. Once that pressure is released, there’s not enough to cause another one. But she had blood in her chest cavity, the abdominal cavity, even in the skull. One second the blood was in her veins, the next it was all out.” 

“That sounds terrible,” Eileen says. 

Dr. Monroe nods. “I’m willing to bet it was.” 

Sam looks down at Maureen’s body. She’s only in her thirties. He doesn’t want to think about what her final moments must’ve been like though he knows it must’ve been horrifying. He’s died before, and suddenly, too. He knows that terror that floods through your veins as you’re hit with the realization that you’re going to die. He knows the surreal calm, the numbness, the dread you can’t do anything to fight against. Sam shudders and casts his eyes away. 

“What about Devin Schuster? What condition was his body in?” Sam asks. 

“I can’t say, I’m afraid. Mr. Schuster’s religion didn’t permit an autopsy, so we went off what was visible outside the body.” 

“So what was his cause of death, then?” Sam asks. 

“Well, given that he had a history of heart disease and the sudden death we determined it was ASCVD.” 

“A heart attack?” Sam asks. 

“More or less. Though, I have to wonder what he has to do with Ms. Holt’s death. There’s not an outbreak we should be concerned about, is there?” 

“We’re just trying to gather information,” Sam says, “do you have Ms. Holt’s belongings?” 

“Over this way,” Dr. Monroe says, leading them a steel table on the other side of the room. He pulls a plastic tub from underneath and sets it on the table. Inside sits a small purse, a cell phone, keys, an inhaler, and her wallet with money and IDs pulled out and stacked on the side. Her clothes are separated into the left side of the bin, folded neatly. Sam takes a pair of gloves from the box on the table and rifles through the belongings. This part has always felt odd to him. It’s one thing to look at a dead body - he’s done it a lot - but filing through the things of a dead person always seemed a little too personal. 

Sam sighs. There’s nothing her out of the ordinary. No hex bags or errant herbs or sigils painted anywhere. It makes no sense. 

“Thank you for your time,” Sam says, removing his glove and shaking Dr. Monroe’s hand. 

Dr. Monroe frowns, pinching his eyebrows together. Sam knows he has more questions, but the sooner Sam can get out of there the better it will be. “Sure. If there’s anything else you need feel free to call us.” 

\----

Mrs. Greta Schuster lives in the last house on the street, just off Main street. It’s a lovely little one-story with a birch tree in the front yard. The inside of the house is clean but cluttered, and well lived in. There are still a pair of men’s shoes sitting by the front door, when she lets them in and invites them onto the couch. 

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Eileen starts. 

“Thank you,” Greta says. 

“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions about your husband,” Eileen says. 

Greta nods, her eyes trailing away to the far wall. Sam follows her line of sight to the wall of family photos. “Why does the CDC want to know about my husband? He died of a heart attack.” 

“We know, ma’am, but we just have to be sure,” Sam says. 

“Is there an outbreak of something I should be concerned about?” Greta asks, “we were in Israel three months ago but that shouldn’t be an issue should it? We were both up to date on our immunizations. We both had a check-up after we got back.”

“Did you bring anything home from your trip?” Eileen asks. 

“Photos?” 

“You didn’t stop at a shop and buy anything? No souvenirs?” Sam asks. 

“No. His mother lives there. We don’t need souvenirs. We go to visit, not to be tourists,” Greta said with a sneer. 

“Just a preliminary question, ma’am,” Eileen says, pulling a notebook out of her jacket. She scribbles down a quick note. “Did you husband know Maureen Holt?” 

“Maureen? No, not really. We saw her around but neither of us really spoke to her. She was… odd.” 

“Odd?” Eileen asks. 

“She’s a nice girl but she’s a little strange. Nothing serious, she just wasn’t very social. She grew up here but moved away for college. She came back a few years later, divorced, but she mostly kept to herself.” 

“Did she have any friends or family in town?” Sam asks. 

“I assume she had friends, but like I said, we didn’t interact with her much. I hear she spends most of her time in Edenburg, though why she doesn’t just move there is beyond me. Why? Did she have something?” Greta asks, sitting up straighter on the couch. 

“There’s no need to be concerned, ma’am, we’re just trying to get the story straight.” 

Greta hummed, pressing a single nail to her lips. “What story is that, exactly?” she asks, “if my health is involved I have the right to know.” 

“Well, ma’am,” Eileen says, “right now we’re just investigating. If we find anything you’ll be the first to know.” She scribbled something on the notepad, passing it over for Sam to read. 

_ We should leave before she flips,  _ it reads. 

Sam bites back a smile. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you, Mrs. Schuster,” Sam says, rising to his feet, “it’s just procedure. But if you’re really worried about it, make an appointment with your doctor.” 

Greta frowns as she stands, her lips pursed in a tight line and her eyes sharp. “Are there any symptoms I should be aware of?” 

Sam barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. Never in his life has he had someone so worked up about a quick line of questioning. Then again, he did show up with the CDC badge so that’s on him. “If you start vomiting blood, let us know,” he says. 

Before she can make a comment Eileen hurries both of them out the door and back into the truck, pull off the property. 

“Holy crap,” Sam says as the Schuster home disappears from view. 

“I’ve never had someone buy the lie so well,” Eileen says. She’s driving, so the conversation ends until they pull up to the motel. Or, they would continue to talk, if it wasn’t for the water trickling out of the door of Sam’s hotel room. 

“What the fuck?” Sam shouts, flying out of the truck and into the motel room. Water rushes over his feet as he pulls the door open, soaking into his shoes. The rest of the room is soaked, with a loud gush of water coming from the bathroom. Sam marches it, the carpet squelching beneath his feet. More water pours over his feet as he opens the bathroom door, and that’s when he sees it. The head of the shower is lying in the stall, water shooting out and over the tub lip. 

“Jesus Christ,” Sam mutters. He leans over the tub, soaking his whole head and back as he does, trying to shut off the knobs. It does nothing to stop the water, and Sam swears again. 

“Are you alright?” Eileen calls out. 

Sam turns around, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “I think a water pipe busted!” he shouts. He turns, noticing now that there is water pouring out of the faucets as well. “We gotta let the front desk know,” he says. 

Eileen nods and runs out of the room. It’s that moment when Sam realizes that the television and god knows what else is still plugged in and he’s in standing water, so he books it out of the room and after Eileen as well. 

The front desk is occupied by a woman with curly white hair, this time, whose name tag reads Molly. She’s alarmed as Eileen tells her what happened, and immediately sets out to have someone shut the water off to the ground floor. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” she says, “but we’re going to have to move your rooms.” 

Of course they are. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say the motel was hexed or something.

“Both of you,” she says, “at least until the water’s back on. Good news is the second floor has a separate water system.” She glances as the computer screen and frowns, a deep furrow in her brow, “bad news is there’s only one room available on the top floor so you’re gonna have to fight over it.” 

Strike that, the motel is definitely hexed. Sam’s going to do a damn sweep to make sure. 

Sam sighs, “that’s alright. How far off is the nearest motel.” 

“Twenty miles out of town in Edenburg.” 

“Fuck,” Sam swears. 

Molly’s eyes widen at his language. 

“Sorry,” Sam says. “It’s been a long day.” 

“I can comp you the room on the upper floor and the price of the one you can’t use, ma’am,” Molly says, talking to Eileen, “and I can comp your unused room and dry cleaning, if you send us a bill. I’ll get you directions.” 

Sam groans. “We can take the same room, there’s no need for directions.” 

Molly raises her eyebrows at that. “You alright with that, ma’am?” Her left hand trails down below the desk and Sam wants to kick himself. 

Eileen laughs, “yes, ma’am, I’m alright with that.” 

“You sure?” Molly’s eyes float back and forth between the two of them, “we don’t usually have many… you know what, it’s none of my business.” 

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Eileen says. 

Sam tries and fails to suppress a snicker. Molly, for her part, doesn’t scowl at him, though he knows based on the way her lips twitch that she really wants to. 

“Can we have our keys now?” Sam asks.

“Room number 12,” Molly says, giving the keys to Sam. 

“Thank you,” Eileen says with a smile, that’s entirely too funny for Sam. He really does try not to giggle, but he can’t help it. 

Once the water is off in the lower floor, Sam feels better about actually walking inside and getting his things, but he still doesn’t stay too long. Thank goodness he keeps his duffel in the dresser when he leaves and not under the bed like Dean always does. So, thank god, or whoever, for small miracles. 

\---

One shower and a change of clothes later, Sam’s watching as Eileen twirls a pen between her fingers, sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed. She actually took notes while they were out, and she flips through the small notepad, frown on her lips. 

Sam taps her on the shoulder and she scoots over and faces him as he sits down. 

_ “What’s our theory?”  _ Sam signs. 

“I don’t know,” she says, “no hex bags on Maureen, no autopsy on Devin. How are we supposed to have anything to go off of?” She asks. 

“I wish I knew,” Sam says, “something weird definitely happened with Maureen, though.” 

“You’re sure there’s no next of kin?” Eileen asks, dropping the notepad onto the bed. 

“ _ No, _ ” Sam signs, “ _ we’ll have to sleuth. _ ” 

Eileen smiles, “ _ what did you have in mind? _ ” 

“ _ I’ll check her bank records, see where she’s been spending her money. If we find where spends here time, we might find someone who knows more about her, _ ” he signs. Half of it is fingerspelling, but he’s encouraged by Eileen nodding and urging him to keep it up. 

Eileen’s nose wrinkles as she smiles, “ _ alright, detective Winchester, let’s see the magic happen. _ ” 

She’s so damn beautiful when she smiles, and it makes Sam’s chest hurt. He wants more than anything to just lean over and kiss her, but that would ruin everything and he knows it. He’s not made for long term relationships. He’s cursed and he knows it. 

He forces a smile, standing to get his laptop. “ _ You know, this will be embarrassing if I can’t get anything now. _ ” 

“ _ Performance anxiety? Didn’t think you were the type. _ ” 

“You - I - duh - nu-huh,” Sam responds, his ears heating at the tips. 

Eileen snickers at him as he comes to sit back down on the bed, laptop in hand. He ignores her and gets to work tracking down whatever he can find about Maureen’s private life. Over the course of the hour it takes for Sam to actually get into her bank account, Eileen has pressed herself close to his side, her chin resting against his shoulder as she watches him click and type.

“You know, you can watch a movie. You don’t have to watch me,” Sam says.

“ _ I don’t mind, _ ” She signs, moving a cupped hand away from her chin. 

Her hand rests on his thigh, and Sam can’t really remember the last time he was this warm and comfortable with someone next to him this way. Forget having sex, he can’t seem to remember the last time he even snuggled with another person. It’s nice, even if it nags at the back of his brain like an insect, reminding him that he shouldn’t be allowing this. 

“What’s that?” Eileen asks, pointing to the screen. 

He’d managed to get into Maureen’s bank account (finally) and was looking through the purchases she’d made up until her death. 

“AP Metaphysical in Edenburg,” Sam says. 

“Sounds suspicious,” Eileen says, looking up at him. 

“Definitely. You think she knew something?” Sam asks. 

“I’d put money on it.” 

“So, what do you say we check out her place?” 

\----

Maureen Holt lived in a tiny single wide trailer just off the interstate. It was painted a soft, sunny yellow, and there’s a single rose bush next to the porch. Sam picks the lock, pushing the door open and immediately jumping back. A harsh electronic beeping blares from inside the house, and it takes Sam a moment to realize that it’s not a burglar alarm, but an alarm clock from the inside of the house. Still, he keeps his gun out and close to his side. 

Eileen follows at his back, her gun also drawn as she scans the room. For the first time, Sam wonders how this is going to go down if they get separated and he needs help. He knows Eileen can take care of herself but if he screams she can’t hear him. She certainly can’t hear the loud ass alarm that’s driving him crazy. 

They make their way through the living area, flicking on the light as they go. They then moves to the bedroom, so that Sam could turn off the damn alarm and get a better look around. Eileen turns on the light.  Blackout curtains line the windows and the bed is pushed to one side of the room. Taking up most of the area was a wooden table covered in a black cloth. There are various candles of different colors and sizes adorning it, along with an incense burner and several brass statues of goddesses. 

“Jackpot,” Sam says. He moves closer to the table, kneeling to take a better look. The statue in the center of the table is of three women, back to back, each holding two objects in their hands. One hold two torches, another a snake and key, and the final a sword and torch. Hecate, if he recalls correctly, the goddess of witches and cross roads. “Looks like Maureen was our witch,” he says. 

Eileen frowns, dropping down to look at the altar as well. “No. Not a witch,” she says, “Wiccan.” 

“Technically,” Sam says, “but she was definitely working some magic.” 

“Protection magic,” Eileen says, pointing to the jars of herbs on the table, “that’s sage and thistle. She was trying to keep something away. She might’ve been preparing for a ritual.” 

“Why didn’t she then? If she had what she needed?” 

“Maybe she did. Maybe she was waiting for the new moon, when protection magic is strongest.” 

“Okay,” Sam says, “but if you’re right what did she know that we didn’t?” 

“Look for her grimoire. She probably wrote it down.” Eileen lifts up the cloth, frowning when she finds nothing under it. 

Sam stands and they begin the process of digging through her things for anything that resembles a grimoire. Sam finally finds it in the dresser, underneath a stack of sweaters. It’s a plain black leather notebook with silver trim on the edges of the paper. He comes over to Eileen, tapping her on the shoulder as he flips the page to the last entry. They each read silently. 

_ I had a reading done at Bridgette’s shop. Ryan’s up to something really dangerous, but we don’t know exactly what yet. I had a feeling he was sending me psychic attacks, but this is something much worse. He’s going to try to hurt me, so I need to be ready. I’ll setting up for the protection ritual I used last year to ward him off, but if he gets through I might have to resort to a reversal and binding.  _

“Looks like she knew who did this,” Sam says. 

“And now we know who to talk to,” Eileen says. 

\---

They take Maureen’s grimoire with them, in case it proves helpful. It seems a little disrespectful to take something that was more like a diary than spell book from a stranger, but Sam figures Maureen wouldn’t mind if it caught the person who killed her. Still, Sam does feel a little queasy reading through it as it paints the picture of a less than stellar life. There are money attraction spells, spells for breaking relationships, spells for moving on, and lots of protection spells. Sam’s stomach turns over when he reaches the the page that details how to make a sexual assaulter impotent. 

“Poor Maureen,” Sam says. 

They made it back to the motel room after grabbing take out. It’s well after six o’clock and there isn’t much change the metaphysical shop in Edenburg is still open. That’s where they’re off to next, hopefully to speak to Bridgette and find out exactly what she told Maureen. And possibly to give her a heads up as well. 

Eileen nods as she bites into an egg roll. “We can catch the bastard that did it to her.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says. He pushes his lo mein around with his chopsticks. “Still. She knew there was something coming up she couldn’t stop it. That’s terrifying.” He tries and fails not to think about the fact that whatever came after her was probably a creature, considering there were no hex bags on her when she died, and that means she couldn’t even see it to fight back. He also fails to not think about Eileen, lying dead and cold on a morgue table. “I don’t think we should do this hunt,” Sam says suddenly. 

“Why not?” Eileen asks, her nose crinkling up as her brow furrows. 

“We didn’t find anything on her right? So that means we’re dealing with an invisible force or something. Something that can be controlled remotely with no chance to fight back.” 

“So?” Eileen asks. “How’s that any different from any witch case really?” 

Sam shakes his head. He looks away from Eileen, trying not to see the deep red claw marks in her chest that aren’t actually there. “It’s pretty dangerous.” 

“Since when isn’t hunting dangerous?” 

“I just… I’d feel better if we didn’t tackle this one.” 

“So who’s going to do it then?” Eileen’s damn near sneering at him now.  “We’re so close to figuring this out. Dean and Cas are still on their case and your mom and Jack are at least a day away. We’re here and we have a lead.” 

“Maybe -” Sam starts to speak but stops himself. He doesn’t want to be that guy but he can’t get the image of Eileen lying dead out of his mind. “You know what, I’m getting pretty tired. Maybe we should just turn in for now. We don’t know what we’re up against yet, so we should wait until we know.” 

Eileen raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. 

“We should probably get ready for bed, though,” Sam says, pushing out of his chair and closing the lid on the take out box. He sticks it in the mini fridge on his way to the bathroom and turns on the shower.  

\----

“Do you think I’m being too unreasonable about this?” Sam asks. 

“Well,” Dean sighs on the other line, “I mean, she’s handled herself for how long? Whatever this witch has going I’m pretty sure the two of you can handle it. You’re Sam fucking Winchester and she’s a badass.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, plopping down on the bed, “but it’s magic.” 

“So?” 

“So. You can’t see magic coming at you. I dunno, if this were a werewolf or a ghoul I might feel better about it, you know?” 

“Would you?” 

“Yeah. I think I would. It’s not like it’s - these people died in the middle of the day, Dean. Surrounded by witnesses. No hex bags either, as far as I can tell. At least with a werewolf you can see it coming at you.” 

Dean hums. “You got a point there.” 

“So, I’m trying to figure out how to tell her that we shouldn’t do this one. Maybe some other hunter can handle it better.” 

“Yeah, she’s gonna be real happy about hearing that,” Dean says, “she just might make you walk home.” 

“I get that but I’d rather have her pissed off at me than - I’d rather have her pissed off.” 

“You know that wasn’t real, right Sammy? That wasn’t Eileen. She’s okay and alive and with you right now. I know it sucked seeing that but man, you can’t let that color how you treat her now. She’ll hate you for babying her.”

“I’m not babying her.” 

“Yeah, well think about how she’s gonna see it. She’s been living her whole life fighting monsters while being down to four sense and she’s gotten this far. But here you are, telling her that you should quit because you’re scared? She’s gonna hate that.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Sam snaps. 

“Yeah, I am. Why do you think I’m telling you this, asshat? I’m the one who fucks up so you don’t have to!” Dean huffs and the sound crackles over the line. “Look, I haven’t been the best when it comes to making decisions for other people. I know that. So do me a favor and learn from my screw ups, okay?” 

Sam sighs. “Okay.” 

“I get it. If anyone gets it -” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat. Which is probably as good of an indication as any that Cas just walked into the room, “just be careful. Both of you. And don’t be stupid.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Will do. You too, okay? Both of you.” 

“Will do, Sam.” And with that he hangs up, leaving Sam to stare down at his phone. Dean’s probably right because he’s an ass and he winds up being right somehow. It pisses Sam off, if he’s honest. He still wants a second opinion, so he calls his mom. She picks up on the second ring. 

“Hey, Sam. How you doin’?” She asks, entirely too cheery for his mood. 

“I’m alright, how are you and Jack?” he asks, stepping out of the motel room. It’s a nice night. The air outside carries a faint chill but nothing too bad. The sky above is a pleasant inky black, pinprick stars stretched out in all directions in a way that always made him dizzy as a kid. 

“We’re fine,” Mom says, “we were just getting back from dinner. You caught us at the right time because we’re just about to head out to the graveyard.” 

“Oh, that’s good,” Sam says. He’s not sure if he should just hang up and let her take Jack out or if he should press forward with what’s bothering him. But, he figures, the ghost can wait. She’s his mom. He’s been waiting his whole life for a little motherly advice, so he’s going to get some dammit.  “Hey can I ask your advice?” 

“Of course. Is it case related?” 

“No, mom, it’s personal.” 

“Oh. Okay, shoot.” He can hear the springs of the motel bed creaking underneath her as she sits. 

So he tells her. He tells her how he’s tempted to pull the plug on the whole hunt. He tells her he’s scared, not for himself but scared of seeing Eileen get hurt. He tells her he doesn’t want to seem like an asshole, but the fear is winning out. 

“Why don’t you talk to her about it?” His mom asks. “I’m sure she’d understand if you just told her why you’re so scared.”

“I can’t do that, mom. That’s just… that’s too much.” 

“Why? Because you have feelings for her?” Leave it to her to say the thing no one else will. 

“Yeah,” he admits. It’s quiet, though it feels like the admission should have the force to crush mountains and part the seas. 

“Maybe you should tell her that, too,” she says. 

Sam lets out a shaky breath. “I can’t do that. That’s - I can’t drag her into this mess.” 

“This mess? She’s already a hunter. I think she’s firmly ensconced in the mess.” Sam is quiet, just staring up at the blanket of stars. He pretends that’s what’s making him dizzy now. “Unless… you think you’re the mess.” 

“Well, I mean… I am,” Sam’s voice breaks. He can’t help the tingles that start in the tip of his nose, or the way he sniffles. “Every woman I’ve ever been with - Jessica, Madison, Ruby, they’re all dead now. Hell, even Amelia didn’t work out. I have no luck with women,” he’s crying now, and it’s making his voice warble in the back of his throat. 

“Oh, sweetie,” his mom says. 

“I can’t. I can’t do that to her. Not after I’ve already seen it.” He sniffles, wiping the tear tracks away with the back of his hand. 

“Sam,” his mother’s voice is soft, “Sam. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’ve had so much heartache. If I could take it all away from you, I would. But sweetie, I know it’s hard but you can’t do that to her and you can’t do that to yourself. You deserve to be happy, too.” 

“Hunters don’t get happy endings,” Sam says. 

Mom sneers. “Maybe, if you’re thinking about a domestic nightmare. That didn’t work for my parents and it certainly didn’t work for me,” she says. 

“So why could it work for me?” Sam asks. 

“It won’t. That’s what I’m trying to say. We hunters don’t live lives that look good on Christmas cards, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible for us to have families.” Mom says. 

“But for how long? Everything is always so close and then it  - it isn’t anymore.” 

“I don’t know,” Mary says, “I honestly don’t know. And I wish I could tell you that there was some sure fire way to know but Sam, sweetheart, please don’t deny yourself the chance to be happy just because things have been bad.” 

Sam huffs but he has nothing to say.

“Do you know what my biggest regret in life is?” She asks. 

“No.” Though he has a few ideas. He’s not prepared for what he hears, though. 

“My biggest regret is that I never told John what we were up against.” 

“Really? That’s your biggest regret?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not saying the deal I made with Azazel was right but it was cosmic. I know it’s made your life in particular hard, but if I could go back and do anything differently, I would’ve told your father what we were up against. Maybe then you all would’ve had a fighting chance. But I was stupid and too worried about holding on to an illusion. You’re not under the same delusion. You know there’s monsters out there and so does Eileen. And you can protect yourselves. You’d be a lot smarter about it than I was.” 

Sam lets out a bitter chuckle. “I guess.” 

“Sam, sweetheart, there’s no joy in life if it’s not full of people you love. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but please don’t let my screw ups make you afraid of trying to have something you want. You’re one of the guys who stopped the apocalypse, after all. If you can do that, you can do anything.” 

Sam shrugs and nods, even though she can’t see him. “I guess you’re right.” 

“I know I am,” Mom says. “And I also know it’s pretty scary to confess your feelings for someone and that life in general is scary, but I still think you should talk to her about this. She can help.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Sam says. 

“That’s all I ask. You okay now?” 

“I’m alright, mom. Thanks.”

“Good. Now, talk to Eileen and get some sleep. I’ll text you when Jack and I get back to the motel.” 

“Thanks,” Sam can’t help but smile to himself. The tears have long since stopped flowing and he figures he’ll be okay to walk back into the room. “You two be safe.” 

“Always. Same to you. And I love you.” 

“Love you too, mom.” 

Sam brushes his hair out of his face and walks back into the motel room. Eileen is already sitting on the bed, watching television. She’s already in her pajamas, her alarm clock band already secured to her wrist. 

He taps her on the shoulder. “Can I get one of those pillows?” he asks, “and a sheet?” 

“Why?” 

“So I have something to sleep on?” 

She tilts her head to the right, laying her cheek on the palm of her right hand. Her eyebrows are pinched together and she’s frowning at him. 

“I thought you were going to take the bed,” he says. 

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a king size.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to…” 

She grabs his wrists, knee walking backwards on the bed. “Sam. Just sleep on the bed like a normal person.” 

He kind of wants to argue, but he really doesn’t have the emotional energy to do so. Instead, he settles down on the side she’d previously been occupying and watches the television. It’s some telenovela and the subtitles are in Spanish, but he’s not all that concerned with what’s going on anyway. 

After a few more minutes, Eileen shuts off the television and bedside lamp, snuggling into the covers. Sam follows suit, shutting his eyes and trying to will himself to sleep. It isn’t until he hears Eileen’s steady breathing and he knows that she’s asleep that he lets himself relax. He blows out a breath and stares up at the ceiling. He knows he’s thinking like an overprotective dick and he knows that both his mom and Dean are right about some things but… he’s terrified. He thought, before all this happened, that Eileen could be different. She was like him, not someone who never knew or wound up a monster. She could handle herself. But then that shifter happened and it was too much. She was really dead to him, no matter the fact that she really wasn’t. She was gone and now all he can think about is how this could go south and she could wind up that way again. And it would be all his fault for dragging her into his fucked up messy life in the first place. 

Sam groans, throwing his arm over his eyes and forces himself to lay still and clear his mind. He falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam wakes up warm. He snuggles deeper into the bed, tucking his face into the pillow and burrowing into the sheets. He’s barely awake, but he’s happy and content, and the soft scent of lilacs fill his nose. It’s morning, if the soft light filtering through the broken blinds and into Sam’s face is anything to go by. It’s not enough to really bother him, just enough to keep him from falling back asleep. The bed shifts in front of him and Sam is suddenly much more awake than he was, remembering that he’s not alone. 

Eileen is curled up, her back pressed close to his chest. She looks so small there, the curve of her body fitting with his like a puzzle piece. One of his arms hangs loose over her waist, the other tucked under her neck. Her fingers are just barely intertwined with his own and it sets off an ache in Sam’s chest. He can’t remember the last time he woke up spooning someone else. It kinda hurts to think about anyway, so he tries not to. He’s just going to lay here and pretend that this is something he’s allowed. He’s going to listen to her soft breathing, feel the rise and fall of her back against him, and he’s going to just feel it. Dean did say that it was important to find things that made him happy; little, in-the-moment things. Maybe he can just have this moment. 

A sudden vibration sends tremors through the bed. Eileen groans, removing her hand from his and punching buttons on the wrist band she wore to bed. She sits up and Sam pulls back, letting her go. The vibration stops and she unstraps the band from her wrist, tossing it on the bedside table. Her hair is a mess, all fizzed out and stuck up at the side, falling in her face at the front. She yawns, stretching her arms high over her head so her shirt rides up and exposes her belly button. She blinks a few times, rubbing her eyes as she smiles at Sam. 

“Good morning,” she says. 

Sam chuckles. “Good morning.” 

Eileen flops backwards, spreading out on the bed like a starfish. “ _ What’s first? _ ” 

“Breakfast. Then we should go see if Bridgette knows who this Ryan guy is and what we should do about it,” Sam says. 

Eileen nods, wiggling her toes under the bed sheets. She wiggles, settling herself back under the covers. She looks like she’s planning on falling back asleep so Sam pokes her on the shoulder. She opens one eye and pokes him back. 

“You gotta get up,” he says, “we’ve got hunting to do.” 

Eileen shuts her eyes. “It’s only eight. We have time.” 

Sam pokes her again until she opens her eyes. “Sooner we get done the sooner we can go home.” 

Eileen huffs. “Would it kill you to lay down for ten more minutes?” 

Sam frowns. “If we both fall asleep again we might stay in bed until noon and then we’ll be behind.” 

Eileen snorts. “Right, sorry. I forgot witchcraft is a nine to five job.” 

Sam laughs, sitting back against the headboard. “No, but I’m pretty sure Bridgette’s shop is.” 

Eileen rolls her eyes. “Now I know why Dean’s always acting like he’s got a stick up his ass. You  never let the poor man sleep in.” 

“Hey! He’s the one who refuses to go to bed at a decent time. And he sleeps in plenty when he’s at the bunker.” 

Eileen hums, reaching out to grab his wrist and tug him closer. Sam resists a little, but scoots over anyway. “You looked like you were gonna fall off the side of the bed,” she says. He wasn’t but that’s okay. He’ll sit closer if she wants him to. 

He lets her get fifteen minutes in before he nudges her awake. It’s a shame, too, she’s so peaceful when she’s sleeping. She’s a lot more peaceful than the other people he’s around in general, too. It must be because she doesn’t feel the need to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders the way he, Dean, and Cas do. Her whole person just seems lighter than any of them, save for maybe Jack. Even when she’s upset or pissed off, she’s just lighter. Maybe it’s because she just lets it out when she needs to. She cries when she’s upset, laughs when she’s happy, and she’s blunt when she’s pissed. She doesn’t need to hide anything. Sam wishes he could be like her in that respect. After so many years of holding in and holding back, he’s not even sure he’d know the first thing about being that open. But then again, that’s just another reason not to drag her into his mess. 

“No,” Eileen whines, rolling away from him. 

“Come on, Eileen, you gotta get up,” he says. She doesn’t respond, just pulls the blanket over her head. 

Sam sighs. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he says with a smile. 

She says nothing. She can’t see him, so she can’t hear him. Sam sighs and jerks the sheet down to her waist. She has her hands over her eyes and she’s biting her lip but it doesn’t stop the small smile on her lips. 

“Alright,” Sam sighs to himself, “if you’re gonna be that way I’ll play dirty.” 

He rolls her back onto her back, though her hands don’t move. He goes straight for her ribs, tickling her without mercy. She nearly jack-knife’s up, hands falling away from her face as she bursts into laughter. She flails, her knees curling up and hands coming down to pull Sam’s hands away from her stomach. 

“No!” She protests, squirming away and rolling onto her stomach. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Sam says. He sits up on his knees, rolling her over before straddling her hips and sitting on her thighs. He attacks her ribs again, and the exposed skin of her stomach. 

Eileen snorts in laughter, still wiggling underneath him. She’s still scrambling to move Sam’s hands. Sam manages to get his hands under her shirt and tickles the soft skin of her ribs. She practically explodes in laughter then, kicking the sheets and flailing. 

“Sam!” She gasps, “Sam! Stop it!” 

“You gonna get out of bed?” He lets up so she can focus on his face. 

“Fine,” she huffs. 

Sam moves to slide off her and that’s when she takes her chance. The second he lifts his ass and leg off her body, she wraps her leg around his and pulls up, flipping them both. She grabs Sam’s wrists and pins them over his head, planting her ass on his hips. She smirks down at him, her face so close that her hair tickles his nose. 

Sam’s more than a little startled. He wiggles his hips, trying to flip her again, though she widens her stance, digging her knees into the bed on either side of his hips. She’s a lot stronger than she looks, and he’s pretty well pinned. 

“Woah,” he breathes. 

Eileen smiles. “You didn’t think I’d let you win that easy, did you?” 

“I didn’t even know there was something to win.” 

Eileen leans in close, her breath on his face. He’s suddenly aware of just where she’s sitting and he tries and fails to not let his eyes fall on the worst possible places. Her shirt is thin enough that he can see the soft skin of her breasts. He pulls his eyes up, first staring at her lips, then her eyes but it’s too late he’s already been caught. 

She lets go of his wrists, trailing her fingers down the inside of his arms and he shudders. It would be so easy to pull her close and kiss her, so easy to thread his fingers through her hair and roll his hips into hers. There’s a twinkle in her eyes that makes him want to just go for it, to just see what might happen if they let it go wherever it could possibly go. 

He grabs ahold of her wrists and rolls them one last time, before jumping off the bed and bolting for the shower. 

\----

They don’t talk about it at breakfast or during their car ride to the Edenburg. The silence of the ride drags over the trip but it’s not as oppressive as Sam had expected it to be. He feels awkward as hell but Eileen doesn’t seem to mind. She’s all smiles as she drives. 

AP Metaphysical is on a corner, wedged between a pizza shop and a comic book store. There’s barely any parking space, as all of the buildings in the area are right on top of each other and the parking lot is shared between the three businesses and two more that stretch past the comic book store. It’s a small white stucco building, with a green thatched roof, and Sam can’t decide if it’s trying to play up the fairytale cottage vibe or if it was once a home before the area turned from residential to commercial. Oddly, there are angel statuettes in the window facing the street. There are runes carved into the door frame, but they’re not any spells as far as Sam can tell, just blessings written in Futhark that’s been translated from English. 

The open area of the shop is clean and bright, with herbs in jars lining the wall behind the register and books lining the wall opposite it. An older man stands at the register, sorting small rocks into plastic tubs. 

“Can I help you today?” he asks, not bothering to look up from his task. 

Sam glances over at Eileen. They hadn’t really had the opportunity to discuss how they wanted to play this and they’re not dressed in a way that suggests any kind of authority. 

“We were hoping for a reading,” Eileen says. “Is Bridgette in?” 

Only then does the man look up. “She’s in the back room, but I think she’s free to give readings. Were you both looking for one or -?” 

“Together,” Eileen says, “she can do that, right?” 

The man frowns. “I’m gonna have to ask. Hang out here for a minute?” 

The man comes out from behind the counter, then down the hall past a shelf of candles before he disappears. 

“A reading?” Sam asks. 

“We’ll get her alone. See if she’s the real deal and if she can help us.” 

Sam shrugs. It takes a while for the man to come back and lead them back down the hallway and into a small room across the hall from the bathroom. It looks like it was once a bedroom, if the building was actually a house before it was a shop. A small woman who looks about their age is standing by the corner, tinkering with a smoking cauldron. Her hair is copper red but her eyebrows are chocolate brown. It’s a little distracting. She coughs, batting the smoke out of her face. 

“Hi there,” she says, “I’m Bridgette. You’re here for a couples reading?” 

“Yes and no,” Sam says, shutting the door behind him. The room smells like burning juniper and sandalwood and it makes his nose itch. “My name is Sam and this is Eileen,” he says. 

Eileen sits down at the circle table in the middle of the room. “Did you know Maureen Holt?” she asks. 

Bridgette’s smile falls and she brushes her hands off on her broomstick skirt. “I did. She was a friend of mine. Her passing was… unexpected. Were you friends of hers?” 

Sam nods, taking the seat next to Eileen. “We were hoping you could help us. She mentioned something the last time we talked - something about a man named Ryan and a binding ritual. We were hoping you could tell us more about what she was doing.” 

Bridgette tenses, stepping away from the cauldron and the small shelf it’s kept on. “I’m sorry, I don’t know a Ryan,” she plasters a smile on to her face and takes her seat across from Sam and Eileen, “but anyway, what kind of reading do you two want? Are you worried about your compatibility? Possibility of children? Trouble with family?” 

Sam sets his hand over the deck of cards on the table before she can grab it. “Bridgette, we know you know about Ryan. We know you were trying to help Maureen.” 

Bridgette’s eyes flutter shut as she pulls in a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know why you feel the need to talk to me about her, but I’d really prefer not to. Maureen is gone and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. Ryan is dangerous and the more people who poke around the worse off everyone is.” 

“And why is that?” Eileen asks. “Did he do something to her?” 

Bridgette scowls, “Look -” 

“We’re here to help,” Sam says, “honest.” 

“And what could you possibly do? That man practices a darker magic than I know anything about and the two of you?” She scoffs, waving her hand in their direction, “your auras are all messed up. You don’t even practice magic,” she says to Eileen, “and you’re so clogged with emotional turmoil that I doubt the strongest cleansing I have could help. I appreciate it, but this isn’t your concern.” She scoots Sam’s hand away and plucks the cards off the table, turning her attention to shuffling them. 

She draws five cards and slaps them down on the table; The Moon, The Nine of Swords, The Chariot, The Four of Wands, and The Lovers. Bridgette takes a deep breath biting her lip and staring down at the cards. 

“These cards confuse me,” she says, “they speak of fear and danger, of things that go bump in the night, but they’re hopeful. They’re triumphant. There will be resolution and change and happiness. But I’m getting mixed messages. These three,” Bridgette says, pointing to The Moon, The Nine of Swords, and The Chariot, “have nothing to do with the other three. I’m not getting a cohesive message.” 

“Maybe they’re trying to tell you to trust us,” Eileen says. 

Bridgette frowns, drawing another card, The Seven of Swords, though it’s upside down. Bridgette sighs. “Speak nothing but the truth,” she says. 

“We hunt monsters,” Sam says, “and we know something supernatural caused the death of at least Maureen Holt and we suspect Devin Schuster. We need to know who Ryan is, what is connection to Maureen was, and what you think he did to her.” 

Bridgette sits back in her chair, rubbing a hand down her face. “Maureen was a friend of mine. We met at a winter solstice gathering last year. We’re Pagans, so don’t get your panties in a twist. Ryan Dennis was her boyfriend at the time but he was a bastard. He was into darker magic, things that were unethical.” 

“Unethical how?” Sam asks. 

“In this shop we sell all kinds of things, but most of the people who come in here want little things like job spells and attraction spells and things for cleansings. Maureen and I weren’t following the Wiccan Riede, but it was close enough. Ryan wasn’t like that. He was dabbling in things that weren’t okay. He wanted to control people and spirits without any regard to how it could harm others. He wasn’t concerned with what was right, he was concerned with what he wanted.” 

“So what happened?” Eileen asks. 

“She left him. I didn’t know until afterwards that he was abusive, but he was. She’d filed a restraining order against him and was suing him for some property they’d bought together here in Edenburg.” 

“ _ Schuster was a lawyer _ ,” Eileen signs to Sam. He nods in acknowledgment. 

“But she was getting sicker and sicker the longer the process went on. The doctors couldn’t find anything so we figured it was him. We did a cleansing and nothing worked. She was going to do a binding, to trap whatever he’d been using to attack her, but he killed her before it happened.” 

“What do you think it was that he was sending after her?” Eileen asks. 

Bridgette shrugs, “I - it’s beyond me. I know he was interested in magic from South East Asia, which was horribly appropriative but he wasn’t going to listen to that. My best guess is some kind of thought form but… I’ve never seen anything that could actually kill a person.” 

“Really? Never?” Sam asks. 

Bridgette crosses her arms over her chest, “no, I haven’t. I know there are people out there who think Pagans and witches are interchangeable but we’re not. I’m not stupid. I know there’s magic out there you have to make heavy bargains for but that’s not what we’re about here. He might’ve been but I stay as far away from that as possible.” 

Sam and Eileen share a look, before glancing back at the cards on the table. “Do you know where to find him?” Sam asks. 

Bridgette shakes her head. “I know he has an apartment in town but I don’t know the address. I never cared to.” 

“We have a name,” Eileen says, “that’ll be enough.” 

“What are you gonna do?” Bridgette asks. 

“We’re gonna stop him. Whatever it takes,” Sam says. 

Bridgette shuts her eyes and lets out a slow exhale. “If you must. I’ll wish you luck.” 

“Thank you,” Eileen says. Both she and Sam stand and turn to leave, but Bridgette stops them almost at the last minute, just as Eileen walks out into the hall. 

“Wait, Sam,” she says, “these two cards,” she points to the table, “they’re for you.” 

“Oh?” 

“They’re cards of change. They have strong romantic connotations.” 

“O-kay?” 

“I just thought you’d want to know. They speak of a coming milestone and of love and harmony. I can’t say for sure, but if I were you, I might ask your girlfriend to marry you after you fix this mess,” she says, a small smile lightening her face just a bit. 

“Thanks,” Sam says. He smiles, despite himself and doesn’t bother to correct her. The cards may have convinced her, but Sam’s given up on putting stock in fate. He’s been notorious for doing the opposite of what he’s supposed to, after all. 

“And don’t worry about paying,” she calls after him as he walks into the hall, “take care of Ryan and it’s on the house!” 

\-----

“I think I’ve got it!” Eileen says, over her computer screen. Sam gets out of his chair and stands behind her, squinting at the screen. They’ve been at this for hours, between finding where Ryan lived and trying to figure out what kind of spirit or thought form he had on a leash. 

“It’s a polong,” Eileen says. “They’re apparently very nasty spirits. Totally invisible and only obeying their masters. Apparently they come about with a few complicated rituals and a jar full of the blood of a murdered man.” 

“Geeze,” Sam says.

“The people they go after are those who’ve earned the ire of their masters, usually resulting in bruises and broken bones but they can kill. Victims are often liquified on the inside and bleeding from the mouth.” 

“That sounds like it fits,” Sam says. “What do we need to do?” 

“Well, that’s a little complicated. Apparently black pepper and garlic and be used as a deterrent, but only after the spirit has entered someone’s body. Breaking the jar its blood is kept in will release the spirit and free it, though.” 

“Okay so we’re gonna need to stake out the apartment, wait until he leaves, and set the spirit free… and then what?” 

Eileen shrugs, “unfortunately that’s all the information I could find.” 

Sam sighs, digging his palms into his eyes. “Alright, well, I say we have another beer, then we check the place out.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Of course, that’s the moment with Sam’s phone rings. He doesn’t recognize the number, but he picks it up anyways, he doesn’t get a chance to even give a fake name before there’s panicked shrieking on the other end. 

“Sam!” There’s a crash on the other end. 

“Hello?” Sam jolts, to a standing position, Eileen shortly behind him. 

“Sam! Help! It’s Ryan! It has his voice.” 

“Bridgette?” 

“There’s something in the store!” 

“Bridgette what do you see?” Sam asks. 

“Nothing. There’s just -” there’s a sound like glass shattering somewhere close, “I’m in the reading room. There’s nothing Sam. It’s just movement and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Do you have garlic? Black pepper? It’s a polong. Those might keep it away,” Sam gestures to Eileen, who is already grabbing their bags and throwing her shoes back on. “Listen, we’re on our way. Just stay hidden and if you have any salt -” 

“The pepper is in the other room!” Bridgette shrieks. 

“Okay, just stay where you are. Make a circle of salt and get inside it.” 

“Is that going to keep it away? Do I need to get the pepper?” 

“Just use the salt. We’re on our way. Stay on the line.” 

They were out the door and in Eileen’s truck before Sam even had time to lace his shoes. Eileen veered out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell, paying no mind to the stop signs. Bridgette’s breathing was hard and heavy on the other line, which was unsettling but at least she was alive. 

“I think it’s gone,” Bridgette said with a whisper. “I’m gonna go check.” 

“Bridgette, no, stay in the circle!” 

“I’m just gonna check.” 

“Bridgette!” 

There was silence on the line, then a scream and a crash. 

“Bridgette!” 

Sam hung up after thirty agonizing seconds of silence. 

“What?” Eileen asked, glancing at Sam.

“Go faster.” 

They get to Bridgette’s shop in twelve minutes, parking half-cocked in three spaces. The inside of the store is completely trashed. Glass is broken and scattered all over the room, books are torn open and stray tarot cards line the floor. 

“Bridgette?” Sam calles out. Eileen stands firm at his back, her gun and flashlight in the opposite direction of his. 

The find her lying on the ground behind the cash register. She’s bleeding from the mouth, and a few stray pepper corns stick to her lips. There is glass all around her, and though her pulse was weak, Sam can feel it beneath his fingers. 

“Make sure she keeps breathing,” Sam says, handing her off to Eileen as he calls the cops. 

\----

Sam and Eileen get back to the motel shortly after midnight. They barely manage to pass of a story that they were headed to the store and walked in on the aftermath of a robbery, though the cops are obviously still suspicious. Still, they have nothing to hold over either Sam or Eileen, and after way too many cops and way too many questions, they’re allowed to go. 

Sam though, is shaken. Bridgette has survived and hopefully she’ll pull through but she’s got a lot of internal bleeding. There’s a chance that Ryan was planning on going after her anyways, but there’s a chance that they put her in danger just by being there. There’s a chance that whatever went after her is now after them, and if there’s a chance that Eileen could get hurt just as badly Sam is willing to put someone else on it. 

“Sam?” Eileen’s voice pulls Sam out of his thought, “are you alright?” 

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not really.” 

“We got to her before she bled out. There’s still a chance,” Eileen says. 

“Yeah.” Sam makes his way over to the tiny table by the window and starts putting their laptops and journals into their duffles. 

“So, we gonna form a plan of attack?”

“We’re not going to have one,” Sam says. 

“What? Why not?” 

“Because,” Sam says, zipping up the duffle bag, “this hunt is too dangerous. I’m gonna call some people, see if there are any hunters in the area who are willing to take it.” 

“Excuse me? Too dangerous? And what happens in the meantime huh? Bridgette is still in danger as long as Ryan is loose! Other people could still die!” Eileen crosses her arms over her chest, standing in between Sam and the other duffle bag under the bed. 

“We can’t fight this. I don’t want to argue with you right now, but I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“Well, tough. I’m not leaving until we stop Ryan and release the spirit. If I have to do it without you then so be it.” 

“Oh no. There is no way you’re doing this without me, “ Sam says, trying to step around her and get the bag out from under the bed. Eileen matches him, step for step, still glaring daggers.

“Oh, I see what this is. You don’t think I can do it on my own.” 

“No, that’s not -”

“I’ve been doing this on my own for twenty years, Sam. I can handle myself. I’ve taken care of spirits and vampires and werewolves all on my own. I don’t need your help.” 

“I never said you did.” 

“No, but you’re determined to end this hunt early. Why Sam? Do you not think I’m capable enough to handle it? Are you worried about having a deaf woman watch your back?” 

“No! No, Eileen it’s not about that!” 

“Sounds a lot like it to me. If Dean were here would you be bailing out this quick?” 

Sam sighs, closing his eyes. “No.” 

“If it were your mom?” 

“No.” 

“Then what is it, huh? What makes me so different that you don’t trust me.” 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you it’s - it’s invisible. You can’t see it. You can’t hear it -” 

“I knew it,” Eileen slips past him, marching towards the door. 

Sam barely gets in front of her in time. “Eileen, stop, it’s not about that.” 

Eileen stops short, standing in his space. She’s much smaller than him, barely coming up to his chest, but she stands face-to-face with him in her fury. The look she gives him could melt lead.  “Like Hell! You just said it’s because I can’t see or hear it. That makes me a liability, right?” 

“No! Fuck, Eileen, you’re not a liability. I trust you. I trust you with my life, but I can’t let you go out there and get hurt!”

“Sam, it’s just a spirit -” 

“Yeah, it’s a spirit. It’s one that you can’t see or hear and it bleeds people to death in an instant and what if I can’t be there? What if I’m not in the same room and I fail you? Again?” 

“Fail me? Sam what are you talking about?” 

“The hellhounds. When you… it was a shapeshifter, but the British Men of Letters sent a hellhound after a shifter. It was you. I saw your body. I saw you dead and I - I can’t do that again.” Sam’s nose gives that telltale tingle it always does right before he starts bawling. There are tears in his eyes already and he knows there won’t be any stopping it once the first tear falls. 

Eileen takes a small step backward, reaching out and pressing her palm to his cheek. “Sam…” 

Sam doesn’t shake her off, though he wants to. 

“Sam, you can’t be worried about that. You’ve seen your brother die. Cas, too. I’m no different.” 

“But you are,” Sam says.

“Why me?” 

“Because I -” Sam hesitates, just long enough to look down at her face. The anger and indignation has melted from her eyes. She’s not smiling exactly, her lips are no longer pinched into a tight frown.

“Because I -” Sam shrugs, letting out a sigh, “I have feelings for you.” 

Eileen doesn’t say anything, and for one brief and terrifying moment Sam is certain that he’s freaked her out. Then her hand moves backwards, gripping tight around the back of his neck and pulling him down. She surges upwards on her tiptoes and kisses him. She’s not timid or shy at all. She’s fierce and demanding, licking his lips and teasing him to follow before pushing back and kissing hard. Sam can’t help it; he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her up into his arms, returning the kiss as best he can. Eileen wraps her legs around Sam’s waist, digging both her hands into his hair. Sam supports her back with a single hand, letting the other drift to the back of her neck to hold her close. She bites at his lips and drags her nails across his scalp. He spins them around, pressing her into the door as he trails wet, hungry kisses down her neck. It’s as much of a fight as their earlier spat was. 

Sam doesn’t stop until he’s drawn out of it by her heel digging into his lower back. She’s panting a bit, her breasts rising and falling against his chest. “Sam…” Her voice is more breath than word. 

“Eileen?” 

“I have feelings for you, too.” 

Sam can’t help the half snorted chuckle that pulls out of him. He rests his forehead to hers and he smiles. She tips her chin up and kisses him again. This time they’re slower, more deliberate, but just as heated. Sam is hard in his jeans and he has no doubt that Eileen can feel him against her thigh. She jerks his hair back, nibbling down the front of his throat. He groans, jerking his hips forward. She groans, loud and low against his skin. 

He wants, so badly. He wants to run his hands under her shirt, to taste the sweat on her skin and watch her shake. And she’s here and giving as good as he can give and if they don’t put a stop to this soon it’s not going to end until they’re exhausted. 

He pulls away from her lips, and she whines, but he’s resolved. He needs her to see him. He needs to make this clear. They’re eye-to-eye, and she’s glaring at him with those deep brown eyes that spark with challenge. She smirks at him, then tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls him into her, biting down on his lip until he’s groaning. 

Sam backs away from the door, turning them around again until he can toss Eileen off him and onto the bed. She bounces twice, looking up at him slightly awed. She lifts herself up and walks backwards on her knees, beckoning him forward with a single crooked finger. 

Sam climbs onto the bed, knees first as she pulls her shirt off and flings it at his head. He catches it, just in time to drop it as she unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the bed. There’s less than two feet of bed between them but it might as well he miles because crossing it takes too damn long. She squeaks as he tackles her to the bed, arms wrapped around her slim waist. There’s no preamble to it when he takes her breast into his mouth, when he sucks the soft skin and laves his tongue over her nipple. She groans and shudders beneath him as he dives in, cupping and squeezing the breast he’s not currently nibbling on. 

Sam pulls off, leaving wet, sloppy kisses across her chest before nibbling and licking her other breast. She digs her hands into his hair, her nails sharp against his scalp. It feels fucking great, and Sam can’t wait until he gets to feel them digging into his back. He hopes she leaves welts. 

Eileen drags him up, and he follows but not before sucking a faint bruise just between her collar bones. She kisses him again, almost like she’s angry, like she wants to devour him. Her ankle hooks around his thigh and pulls him close, and he doesn’t bother to resist the groan he lets loose as he thrusts between her legs. The friction is okay but not nearly as good as it could be, though the slight shudder in her breath definitely makes him do it again. 

He leans up as best he can, pulling his shirt off and flinging it across the room. She runs her finger tips up his arms then down his back. She grabs his ass with both hands, pulling him down and forward. Sam groans as he falls into her. Her skin is warm against his hands as he strokes up her curves, kneeding his thumbs into the muscles of her stomach. Her hand trails across his hip and slips between them, palming at the bulge in his jeans. Sam’s breath stutters, just briefly, before he rises up on his knees and pulls her hand away. Then he’s unbuttoning his jeans. 

There’s no mistaking the way Eileen’s eyes widen when he unzips his fly and lets his jeans fall open. He knows he’s a big guy. He’s had quite a few compliments in the past. But nothing sets his blood on fire more than the way Eileen looks at him and bites her lip. She’s not even looking at him really, just his cock which is still hidden behind his underwear, and she doesn’t seem to care whether or not she looks sexy right that moment. There’s raw want in her eyes, and when she finally pulls her attention away to look him in the eyes there’s nothing coy there. She’s definitely not playing around when she slips her hand into his underwear and squeezes the shaft of his cock, either. 

Sam’s tired of playing around. He pulls back onto his knees, scooting back a foot or so on the bed to undo her pants and slide them down her thighs. A few clumsy kicks and they’re left at the foot of the bed, so Sam makes quick work of her cotton panties. She barely gets them off her feet before Sam’s between her legs, spreading her legs wide. She’s wet and warm and Sam yearns to taste her on his tongue but he holds off for the moment, kissing and nibbling the smooth skin of her thighs. Her breath trembles the higher up her thighs he moves. She gasps, high and sharp, when he finally presses the flat of his tongue to her clitorous. He stays there just for a moment giving it one long lick before trailing downward to tongue at her folds and dip the tip of his tongue inside her. She moans, low and loud as he traces the lines of her skin with his tongue, a long lick here, the gentle probing of his tongue there, just learning her body and listening to her breathe and groan. He kneeds her thighs, letting his left hand drift up her body and his nails scrape across her skin. She shudders, her thighs closing in around his ears. He pulls away before she can get too wound up, sitting back on his heels while he fishes his wallet and a condom out of his jeans. His jeans don’t cooperate when he tries to push them down and off, so he waddles on his knees to the edge of the bed and stands on the ground, jerk both his pants and underwear off in one swift motion. Eileen already has the condom open and waiting when he settles in back between her legs. She slips the condom on before sliding up the bed and spreading her legs. 

Sam has to take a moment to settle himself as he lines his cock up. Eileen smiles at him, her eyes sparkling with unrestrained desire. Sam pushes forward and is answered by her soft gasp. He rocks forward ever so slightly, testing her limits. She’s tight, already clenching around him as he still. He’s about to open his mouth, to ask something, though what he’s not really sure, when she digs her nails into his biceps and shoves him closer with her ankle. He moans, a little too loud and a little too high pitched, and he lets himself go. 

Eileen moans with every other roll of his hips, mouth open wide and head tipped back. Her hands skim and her nails scratch across his back, scrambling for any point to hold on and dig in. Sam falls close into her, breathing in the scent of sweat and soft shampoo in her hair and on her neck. He mouths at the column of her neck, nipping and pressing sloppy, wet kisses into her skin. She’s loud, moaning out  _ yes _ , and  _ right there _ , and  _ fuck, harder _ . Sam falters in his rhythm. He’s rougher than he usually likes to be, fingers squeezing bruises into her hip and leaving dark red teeth marks against her shoulder. He can’t help himself; he  _ wants _ too badly. He’s desperate to hear her voice break, to hear her shout his name. It’s okay though, because if the tingles in Sam’s back are anything to go by he’ll look like he got attacked by a wild cat when they’re through. 

As her breathing picks up he slips his hand between them, setting his thumb against her clit and letting the movements of his hips drag her across it. Her chest rises and falls in uneven heaves and she screams, her body locking up around him as she comes. Sam, too, lets out a broken wail as she clenches around him, and he comes, too. 

He’s still laying against her when he finally catches his breath enough to pull out and tie off the condom. She doesn’t say anything, and he’s sure he’s gone and fucked it up. Whatever happened in the heat of the moment, whatever sudden need overcame them must’ve vanished and now they’re left with bad decisions and regrets. But then she kisses him soft and sweet and rolls right into his arms. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea, then. Maybe, just maybe, Sam can have this, whatever it is. 


	5. Chapter 5

They’ve been sitting in front of Ryan’s apartment for the past twenty minutes. After a few hours worth of a nap, a quick shower, and a greasy breakfast at a Denny’s on the way, they made their way to Ryan’s in the middle of the night, hoping to catch him off guard. The issue, of course, is that the light facing the window is still on so there’s no way of knowing if he’s awake or asleep. They’re going to wait as long as it takes, though, because if they catch him off guard tonight they can get home by dinner. 

Eileen is sitting in the passenger's seat, scrolling through her phone. Sam’s trying not to pay too much attention to it, but the fact of the matter is that they haven’t really said much to each other since they had sex. They showered separately, ate in relative silence, and now they’re sitting in the dark of her truck, waiting for a light to go out. Sam doesn’t regret what happened. It wasn’t a bad thing at all in his mind, he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. She could very well tell him that nothing has to change between them after this hunt is over. She wouldn’t tell him now, because if she did he might be distracted during the hunt. Or he could make an easy target. Witches tend to be good about picking up on emotional distress. But, like Sam figured, now that he has a taste of what he and Eileen could be he’s not willing to give it up. He was already gone on her before she kissed him. Now that they’ve slept together there’s no going back. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Eileen says, not looking up from her phone. 

Sam pulls his attention away from the red blotches he left on her neck to watch her lip curl up in a smirk. 

“I can hear you thinking too hard,” she says, looking up at him with that sassy little smile she wears so well. 

“I’m not -” 

“Yes you are.” 

“Okay, maybe I am,” Sam says, huffing and crossing his arms over the steering wheel. 

“Just relax, Sam. It’s not that different from any other hunt. Trust me and we’ll be okay.” 

“It’s not the hunt so much,” Sam says. “It’s… what are we?” 

“What are we?” 

“Yeah? We had sex. Now what?” 

“Now we hunt and then we go back to the hotel and sleep. And then you take me to dinner, a real dinner, and we’ll tell your family when you’re ready,” Eileen says. 

“Just like that?” 

“Were you expecting something big and dramatic? After what happened in the hotel?” She’s laughing at him, but Sam doesn’t mind. In fact, he can’t help but laugh at himself, too. 

“Just like that?” he asks.

“Just like that.” 

“Huh,” Sam says, smiling to himself as he looks out over the horizon. It’s full dark out and quiet, like three in the morning tends to be. But the night is soft and gentle; warm and sweet in only the way a summer night can be. A cricket sings somewhere in the distance, but everything else is still. “You really wanna do this? Life with a hunter is risky, or so I hear.” 

Eileen rolls her eyes. “Oh no. A risky and dangerous life. I didn’t think of that. Guess I’ll just have to take it all back.” 

Sam snorts a laugh. “Okay, okay. Point taken.” 

Eileen perks up then, pointing up at the window. “Look, light’s out.” 

They wait for twenty more minutes in the dark before shuffling out of the truck and making their way to Ryan’s third floor apartment as inconspicuous as possible. They’ve got iron daggers tucked into the inside pockets of their jackets and salt rounds in their sawed offs, but the second they have to fire those off it’s going to be a nightmare. It’s unlikely that no one is gonna hear if there’s a fight, so they better do this quick. Of course, that probably means it’s going to take a long time to do. 

Sam picks the lock on the door and they slip inside. The apartment is an absolute wreck. Beer cans and empty pizza boxes form a minefield on the floor. The moonlight streaming through the window is the only light in the room, until they both flick on their flashlights and tiptoe their way around the room. 

There is no obvious place for the spirit jar to be. In fact, if Sam didn’t know there was a witch living in this apartment, he’d think it was the home of just another guy who never learned how to clean up after himself. The room smells like beer and sweat and stale cigarette smoke, no hint of incense or burnt spell remnants or even the sour smell of rotting blood that’s sure to linger around the jar they want. It’s going to take too long to find this damn thing, and that thought makes Sam’s heart pound loud in his ears. 

Eileen takes the kitchen area first, rifling through cabinets while Sam starts at the far end of the living area, by the television. There’s nothing in the cabinets next to the TV other than DVDs and dusty video game consoles. There’s nothing behind the TV either, and the knick knacks on the shelf above it are too small or too solid to told anything. 

Sam turns around, clicking his flashlight so the beam pulses in three quick waves to get Eileen’s attention. “ _ Find anything? _ ” 

She shakes her head. “ _ Have you checked the linen closet yet? _ ” 

“ _ No. If it’s not there it’s probably in his room. _ ” 

“ _ Goodie. _ ” 

Sam has his back to the main room, thumbing through fitted sheets in the closet when he hears the blast of a shotgun and then a crash. He doesn’t really have time to think before he’s leaping over the couch and to Eileen’s side. The door of the refrigerator is still open, and the shattered remains of several jars of jelly and pickles lay on the floor. Eileen has been thrown across the space, into a bookcase on the other side of the kitchenette. 

“Eileen? Are you okay?” Sam asks, picking her head up. Her eyes struggle a little to focus and there’s blood running down the left side of her temple. 

“Sam,” is all she says. 

Sam tries to lift her up so she’s sitting when he’s dragged away with enough force that his neck aches. The bedroom door is open and the light is on, and there standing in the doorway is Ryan, one hand raised in the air. The sharp tingle of magic runs through Sam’s body, and he’s crying out as it races through his nerves. He’s stuck on his knees, unable to fight the shock running through him. 

“Who the hell are you?” Ryan snaps. He’s a lot ganglier than Sam expected, though that’s not especially important at the moment. “And what the fuck are you doing in my house?” 

Sam can’t answer, but even if he could it wouldn’t be very polite. 

“You’re those bastard hunters who’ve been after me aren’t you?” Ryan spits. “Well at least you made yourselves easy targets this time,” he says, twisting his hand oh so slowly. Sam screams. His insides feel like they’re being wrapped around a pole and twisted. He can feel the bile and very possibly blood rising up his throat and he’s more afraid of choking on it than he is of literally puking his own guts. He falls to the ground, his trembling arms barely holding him up. 

From some distant plane of awareness, Sam realizes there is glass breaking. And then it stops.

It’s all so sudden that it’s almost anticlimactic. The pain in Sam’s gut stops all at once and he has to give himself a chance to catch his breath before he can look around. The only sound Ryan makes is a cut off scream before his body hits the floor in front of Sam with a thud. He’s bleeding from his mouth and ears. Sam glances back behind his shoulder, finding Eileen on her feet, the remnants of a jar at her feet. She’s breathing heavily and still bleeding pretty badly, but she’s upright and that’s more than Sam can say about himself. 

“Where’d you find it?” he asks through gasped breaths. 

“Fridge,” Eileen says, stepping over the puddle of putrid blood. “I had it in my hand when the spirit attacked me.” 

“Thank god for that one,” Sam says. He reaches out a had and he takes it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. “You’re okay?” 

“As okay as I can be,” she says. She still looks a little woozy looking and probably has one hell of a concussion but Sam has never been more thrilled about that possibility in his life. He doesn’t even say anything, he just pulls her in close and kisses her. And yeah, they might be covered in blood and the room around them smells like death but it definitely ranks among Sam’s favorite kisses. 

“Sam,” she says, pushing him away just as he starts to slip his hand into her hair, “we need to get the hell out of here before the cops show up.” 

Sam laughs. “Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here.”

\----

Sam and Eileen are both exhausted when they finally make it back to Lebanon. They’ve driven all day, not allowing the other to fall asleep lest Eileen’s concussion is worse than they both think it is. Thankfully, everyone else is home by the time they get in and Cas heals her without much effort. 

Cas and Dean both look a little exhausted and Jack’s blue jeans are ripped but their mom looks like she could run a freaking marathon. All in all, it seems like everyone’s had a pretty good run. No one is seriously injured and they’re all together for the second time in a month. 

For the first few hours they’re like passing ships. Sam and his mom pass each other in the kitchen and talk a little back and forth before she heads off to take a nap. Jack stays in the library for the most part, muttering Enochian to himself as he practices reading it, and Eileen wanders around in between rooms, getting herself acquainted with the seemingly endless and ever changing halls of the bunker. Dean and Cas are suspiciously absent until dinner time, but Sam isn’t going to mention it. He’s also not going to mention the fact that Dean and Cas are holding hands under the table when they all sit down to eat their mom’s chicken cacciatore.  (Or that Dean let her cook instead of throwing a fit, for once.) 

They’re in the library, which is the worst place to eat but it’s the only place that has a table big enough for all of them to sit comfortably, Sam flanked by his mom and Eileen, Dean sitting across from him with Cas and Jack at his sides. Dean is smiling, Cas is smiling, and Jack’s cheeks are speckled with tomato sauce. Eileen keeps running her foot up Sam’s leg and his mom is looking at all of them with soft eyes. 

“So Crowley says he’ll be here in a few days,” Dean says around a bite of chicken, “he’s got some magic stocked somewhere in Algeria and he had to take a plane like the rest of us mortals.” 

Sam snorts. “Please tell me he had to fly coach.” 

“Fuck, I hope not. If he did that’s all he’s gonna be talking about for the next year,” Dean says. 

“Oh I doubt that, he’s got a whole world of inconveniences to complain about now that he’s human. Flying in a plane, getting a hangover,” Sam says. Though, if Sam’s honest, he’ll put up with Crowley’s complaints because it means they’ll never have to deal with another demon ever again. Maybe. He can at least try. 

“Wool clothing. Cold french fries. Urination,” Cas adds. 

Dean nearly spits his drink. “Cas, I’m eating.” 

Cas rolls his eyes. “It’s a bodily function.” 

“It’s not kitchen table appropriate.” 

“Good thing this isn’t a kitchen table.” 

Eileen jabs Sam in the ribs before forming her hands in cups and clasping them together. Sam snorts. 

“Hey! I saw that!” Dean says, pointing his fork at her. “That was an insult, wasn’t it?” 

Eileen snorts and giggles out loud, shaking her head. 

“Liar!” Dean says.

“She said you two were married,” Jack says. “I wasn’t aware of that. Does this mean I have two dads now? Well, three if you count my birth father but I don’t.” His brow pinches together like he’s confused by the thought. 

“No,” Mary says, “Dean and Cas aren’t married. They’re not together.” 

“But I saw them kissing in the hallway. That’s a together thing, right?” Jack asks. 

Castiel turns to stare at Jack, then glances back at Dean, a small worried frown on his face. 

Dean rolls his eyes and tosses a rolled up napkin on the table. “Well, so much for keeping it to ourselves.” 

“Was I not supposed to mention that?” Jack asks in what is probably supposed to be a whisper but winds up loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Cas just shrugs. “I supposed it doesn’t matter,” he’s looking at Dean with a tentative smile on his lips. Dean rolls his eyes, throwing an arm over Cas’s shoulder and pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek. 

Sam, Eileen, and Mary all let out the most obnoxious, sappy “aww” they’re capable of. 

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. Don’t think I didn’t notice Eileen’s hickies,” Dean says. 

Eileen instantly reaches for her neck, though Sam is almost certain he didn’t leave any on her neck. 

“When? They’re not above the neckline,” Sam blurts out. 

“Ha! I knew it! You two had sex didn’t you?” Dean says, wagging and accusing finger back and forth between Sam and Eileen. 

“That’s none of your business,” Sam says. 

“Yup!” Eileen says. 

“I knew you’d take my advice,” Mary says, “you two are just too sweet together. It would be a shame if you didn’t get together.” 

“You called mom for advice?” Dean asks, laughing, “dude!” 

“You did, too,” Mary says. 

“Mom!” Dean grouses. 

Sam can’t help but laugh. This is his family. They hunt monsters for a living, and it’s dangerous and a little stupid. They’ve stopped and started the end of the world several times. They’ve died and come back and they’re not anything close to normal but they’re perfect. Maybe, even though Dean would hold it over his head for the rest of forever if he said anything, Dean was right. Maybe there are little things to be happy about. And maybe this one is the one Sam’s going to be able to hang on to. His mom, his brother, his best friend, his adoptive nephew, and his girlfriend. Yeah, that’s definitely worth being happy about. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. If you'd like to cry with me, [I'm over here on tumblr](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Please go show my artist some love. She worked really hard and her work is fan-freaking-tastic!


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